


The Castrato and the Priest

by FailureArtist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Castration, Drug and Alcohol Use, Dubious Consent, Eunuchs, Genderqueer Character, Historical AU - 17th-18th Century, Humanstuck, Italy, M/M, Oral Sex, Priests, Roman Catholicism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:37:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7451485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FailureArtist/pseuds/FailureArtist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tavros Pedro Nitram y Pan is a young out-of-work castrato living in Rome when he meets an eccentric young priest. But what secrets does the priest hold, and what are his intentions towards Tavros?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Castrato and the Priest

**Author's Note:**

> This story was a long time coming. People have been clamoring for it so I'm posting it now, though I don't have the ending finished. I planned for it to be one part but it seems it will be two parts. It was beta read by spacecadetomoly. 
> 
> This story takes place some time in the late 1600s/early 1700s. It's a loose historical AU and there may be many little inaccuracies. I am not an expert on Italy in that era though I have done a lot of research on castrati. 
> 
> Warning: contains non-detailed mention of castration, detailed description of a castrated body, alcohol and hashish use, mentioned adult/minor sex in the backstory, mention of enemas, and light dubious consent.
> 
>  
> 
> [(Pastebin link to spoiler description of dubious consent)](http://pastebin.com/dQCfdGAb)

When Tavros Pedro Nitram y Pan was around twelve years old, he fell off a windmill and sustained injuries that led to the removal of his testicles. After he woke up from his poppy dreams, he was given that cover story. If anyone asked him what happened, he would say that instead of telling the truth: that he was castrated on purpose. Church law forbid willful castration but turned a blind eye when it was deemed medically necessary. Tavros hadn’t exactly chosen to get castrated as much as his family did. His parents had been both blessed and cursed with fertility. His mother had born six healthy sons and two daughters. Though for most this would be a blessing, his parent did not have enough resources to take care of them all and provide them with inheritances and dowries. So after long back-and-forth discussion, they decided to sacrifice their middle son’s fertility in the hopes it would pay off in a lucrative career as a castrato singer. They did not inform Tavros of this idea. He was given drugged wine and when he woke up, his crotch was sore and bandaged. However, he wasn’t angry. He understood his family’s position. Being a singer would be a very exciting career, better than just working a farm. Deep down, he also found it appealing that he would forever remain a boy. He was secretly disgusted at the idea of growing hair all over his body. 

 

Though Tavros was already a member of his local choir, he needed more training than a village choir director could provide. He was sent from his village to a local music conservatory. It wasn’t one of the top-tier conservatories but it was all his family could afford. Though the altered boys were given some luxuries, for the most part life in the conservatory was harsh and the teachers were cruel. Still, Tavros survived. He was not the cleverest student but he worked hard. He waited for the day he could prove himself.

 

Meanwhile, his body grew without the aid of testosterone. He sprouted up to six feet three and grew fat, especially around his butt and worst, his chest. He had not been informed of these possible side effects and he would have been more alarmed if he hadn’t seen the same changes in his classmates. Still, he was disappointed he didn’t look like a cherubic child but instead more like a giant dowager. He told himself people would look past his body when he became rich and famous and besides, at least he never needed to shave or use a stepstool.   

 

After four years, he managed to graduate not at the bottom of his class. His Composition teacher said Tavros was the worst student the teacher had ever seen but his Religion instructor praised Tavros’ perfect memory for saints and popes. Looking at his mediocre grades, his parents probably should have set their sights lower and sent him to become a parish clerk but they still wanted him to become a wealthy singer. They had spent too much money already not to try. With the help of his fellow villagers, who also wanted the local boy to become famous, he was sent from Spain to Rome. 

 

After a long sea voyage, he traveled by cart to the city. He had never been to anywhere as large as Rome. The city had emerged from its dark age to become a beautiful and sophisticated metropolis worthy of its heritage. The buildings sported the stately and majestic Baroque style. Tavros was overwhelmed and scared. He didn’t know anyone in the city, though he was referred to a boarding house often occupied by struggling musicians. He became friends with them. Though they were competitors, they didn’t try to hamstring each other.

 

Not only did he meet fellow eunuchs in his boarding house, he saw them everywhere else. He could tell who they were. Not all of them were musicians. Some of them had mundane bureaucratic jobs. A disturbing lot were prostitutes. They wore dresses that raised their bosoms into breasts and had feminine gestures. They gave their bodies to men who wanted the best of both worlds. Tavros didn’t want to become like them. It wasn’t that he minded wearing a dress. He had worn a dress often in the conservatory. He especially enjoyed the time he dressed as a fairy from Titania’s court. However he didn’t want to suffer the indignity of prostitution. He had spent years developing his voice and he wasn’t going to waste it by selling his body instead.

 

With the help of his fellow boarders, he went to every audition for castrati singers in the metropolitan area he heard of. This being a major musical capital, there were plenty of auditions, both for religious and secular music. However, there were more than enough singers to fill every audition. These cattle call auditions involved lots of waiting and only a couple of minutes performing. He was asked a few question about his education and experience, mimicked some action, and sang a few bars before being shuffled off. He was nervous and often did terribly. Even when he did manage to get into the right spirit, he never got the chance to fully get going on his aria. Most of the time, he was given no explanation as to why he was cut. A few times, he was told he looked too Moorish. He thought that was unfair since his family had been Christian for many generations. They just happened to have dark skin. He could always improve his singing and acting but what could he do about his skin? Despite this, he did work hard on improving his singing, though it was hard to do it in a noisy boarding house filled with people practicing their music. 

 

It got harder to find jobs in Rome so he took an overnight trip to a nearby town that had a church that needed singers. When it was his turn, he thought he did an amazing job, the best he’d done in an audition since coming to Rome. However, when he looked towards the front pew, he noticed the choir director and his assistant were not listening but talking about where they would go to eat afterwards. They then turned to Tavros and said he didn’t get the job. Tavros could have cried right in front of them but he didn’t. However, as he left the chapel, he started bawling like the little boy he sounded like. He leaned on a pillar in the narthex wondering what to do when he heard a gentle voice behind him.

 

“Hey, little bastard,” it said in Tuscany Italian, “What’s goin’ on?”

 

Tavros turned around and looked down a foot to see a priest looking up at him with concern. The priest was wearing an unadorned dusty black cassock and his black zucchetto was not so much on his head as it was pinned to his wild curly hair. However around his neck he wore a beautiful crucifix with purple stones. His eyes were sleepy and his pupils were dilated but they were focused intently on Tavros.

 

Tavros was embarrassed being seen grossly sobbing by a man of the cloth, even if the cloth was disheveled. He went to take out a handkerchief but couldn’t find one. The priest noticed this and took out his own dirty handkerchief.

 

“Here, take upon this, my bastard,” he said.

 

Tavros was a little grossed out by the handkerchief but he took it anyway and wiped his nose before giving it back to Gamzee. The crying man’s voice was still nasal when he talked.

 

“Father, tis nothing, I just had some problems while auditioning, at the audition I just had, to be a choir member.”

 

“Huh? I didn’t hear no problems. Thou performed a miracle in my face alcoves. What happened?”

 

“You heard me?”

 

“Eeyup, I was hanging in the narthex while you got your auditioning on. What sort of catastrophe did I miss behind these walls and doors?”

 

“The part you missed, was that the choir director said I didn’t get the job.”

 

“Why’d the bastard say a fool thing like that?”

 

“You’d have to ask him, as well as his assistant.”

 

“I’m ‘bout to ask the assistant to pay me back a loan. I could swing that.”

 

“Does he owe you a lot of money?” Tavros asked sheepishly. 

 

The priest scratched his hairy chin. 

 

“A few scudi. Just a little something for the pot so he could go another round.” The priest shrugged his shoulders. “But maybe I should forgive his debts, as the Lord does. Hell, maybe I’m the one who owes him?”

 

“Oh,” said Tavros disappointedly. “But he does work for you?”

 

“Nah, this ain’t my pastures. I’m just grazing a few fortnights. Say, where is thou from? Thy talks got accents different than the folks of this parish.”

 

“I’m from Spain, specially, La Mancha, so I speak Castilian, though I learned many languages at the conservatory, including Latin and French.”

 

“I know all the Latin I can and as much French as I can stand but mostly my mouth speaks the Sicilian of my home beaches and the Italian of Tuscany and Rome.”

 

Tavros wondered if this explained why the priest talked so strangely, but the Spanish newcomer had met a few Sicilians in this metropolis and while they shared this priest’s accent, they didn’t share his syntax. No matter; Tavros still could understand the priest despite all this. He wanted to talk with the friendly father further even though it didn’t seem it would go anywhere.

 

“I should introduce myself, Father,” he said, “My name is Tavros Pedro Nitram y Pan.”

 

“And I’ll get to give upon thee my name: Father Gamzee Makara.”

 

The first name sounded unfamiliar and unchristian to Tavros and yet Tavros felt like the entire name was familiar to him. Somewhere he had heard someone say “G. Makara” but he couldn’t remember from where. 

 

Tavros bowed. “It pleases me, to meet you, Father Makara.”

 

“Thou canst call me Gamzee. Hell, thou canst call me Gamzetto, I don’t give a damn.”

 

Tavros wasn’t one to flinch from cursing but such words sounded strange coming from a priest. Yet he continued on informally.

 

“Then, thou canst call me by my Christian name, in turn.”

 

“Aye, Tavuccio!”

 

Tavros replied awkwardly, “Yes, Tavuccio, that is a diminutive thou canst use, though I think I’ll stick with calling thee Gamzee.”

 

“Suit thine own self. Say, what art thou doing for the rest of the day?”

 

“I guess I’ll go back to the tavern, eat a meal in my room, and hitch a ride back to Rome.”

 

“That ain’t no itinerary for the day thou sung a miracle hymn! What’s even going to be on thy board?”

 

“I brought some bread and hard cheese with me. Why, what does thou suggest? Does thou know a good, but extremely cheap, restaurant?”

 

“I know the restaurant of Gamzee and there ain’t no paying there. Come on, my ride should be hangin’ around somewheres out back. I’m gonna take us to my villa and we can have ourselves an early dinner.”

 

“Why, I would be honored, to dine with thee, Father, I mean, Gamzee.”

 

Tavros happily left with Gamzee the site of his recent embarrassment. His fortune had changed. Sure, he still didn’t have a job, but at least he had dinner.

 

Gamzee’s ride was not a singular horse but a full coach fit for a bishop. Tavros was surprised but he was more relieved they wouldn’t have to both ride the same steed. With Tavros’ weight, he might kill the poor beast. A coachman was waiting on top of the coach. He and his master exchanged a few lines in what Tavros guessed was Sicilian. It sounded like gossip or some inside jokes. After that conversation was over, Gamzee turned his attention back to Tavros. He opened the door and helped Tavros into the coach. The inside was a little cramped to the giant but it was lush. Gamzee went in afterwards and sat next to Tavros. Gamzee signaled the driver and the coach went off. Tavros wasn’t used to dark coaches so he felt a little nauseous. However, Gamzee spent the time talking about various subjects that Tavros didn’t notice because he was busy looking out the tiny window.

 

Half an hour later, the coach stopped in front of a country villa. When Gamzee said they had arrived, Tavros immediately left the coach without Gamzee’s help. Luckily, the sick man didn’t need to vomit. He just wanted a cool room and a warm dinner. When he had stopped looking at the lawn, he adjusted his wig and turned his head to see a baroque villa fit for an archbishop. He stood staring at the place as the coachman left. 

 

Gamzee explained, “This is where I crash when I’m supposed to be crashin’ here. Tis not my favorite house.”

 

“What is the house, that is thy favorite?” Tavros asked.

 

“I got a place up in this tiny cove in Sicily, where my parish is at, all up on the rocks and sand. It’s more cozy and it don’t got none of them harsh lines. More of those, whatchacallit, arabesque all up in there with sparkly blue green tiles.” He made lines in the air as he tried to talk architecture.

 

“It sounds lovely.”

 

“Yeah, but I can’t put it in my cassock and take it here, so the Church gave me this.”

 

“Thou hast a parish, right? Not a diocese?”

 

“Did I speak words different again? Whatever I say, I always mean parish.”

 

“It’s just that it seems the Church is being very...never mind.”

 

They walked up the stairs and a doorman opened the door for them. The foyer was centered on a huge portrait of the current pope with smaller portraits of him around it. Tavros didn’t take much note of this at the time. He hadn’t been to many parsonages but he assumes they generally had a picture or two of their earthly boss. Tavros didn’t like looking at Pope Grand IV. Sure, the man was the Vicar of all Catholics but he scared Tavros. Gamzee bowed his head at the portrait for a long moment and Tavros followed suit. Gamzee then went to a bell on the wall and rang it.

 

A butler came in. “Yes, Father?”

 

Gamzee said, “I know it ain’t quite dinnertime, sun ain’t much past the middle of the sky, but can we get hurried up setting a table?”

 

“For you and your guest? What would you like on the table?”

 

“Put on the usual – whole fucking bunch o’ pies – sweet and savory and anything between.” He turned to Tavros. “That in the right with thee?”

 

“Yes, I like pies. What will we have, for hors d’oeuvre?”

 

Gamzee scrunched up his face. “I dunno, I just have everything brought on out at once and whatever ends up in my piehole first is the starter course. What does thou want?”

 

“Hmm, I guess soup, of some sort? Chicken broth?”

 

“Sure, chicken juice and wiggly noodles and a heap of parsley! That’s great. Send that up too, Julio. Oh yeah, we also need something to wash all this shit down and make us chill too. Hey, Tavros, what giggle juice should we get?”

 

“Giggle juice?”

 

“Aye, wine!”

 

“Thou wants my ideas, on wine pairings? For pies, of a varying nature? Umm, I think Burgundy? Or maybe something peppery, a Syrah? Jeez, this is hard, uhh, maybe thou should choose?”

 

“Okay, Red Fruit it is!” 

 

Tavros mouthed, “Red Fruit?” but didn’t ask.

 

Julio announced, “I shall inform the kitchen of your order. Is there anything else you need?”

 

“No, I’m fine. Thanks, Julio!”

 

“You’re welcome, Father. I will inform you when it’s ready.” The butler left.

 

Gamzee turned to Tavros and shrugged his left shoulder. “Let’s get ourselves over to the frontside sittin’ room.”

 

The two went together to the front sitting room. Instead of religious portraits, the front sitting room was chocked full of secular curios. There were shelves and cabinets of little commedia dell’arte figurines. The character of Harlequin predominated. Gamzee sprawled down on a couch and Tavros sat across from him in a chair.

 

“Wow, thou has a lot of figurines,” Tavros said.

 

“I know, I just amble into marketplaces and spy a curio dealer and up I end with piles of these colorful ceramic bastards. Everyone looks down on it and I do got enough feel for my maid to polish them myself once every while, but I can’t help it. I just love bastardy clowns.”

 

“Does thou go to the performances? That is, if that’s allowed?”

 

“If it wasn’t allowed every one of those bastards and bastardettes would get themselves real breaking of legs, so I figure it’s allowed.”

 

“I love going to commedia dell’arte too!” Tavros spoke up now that he knew it was safe, “They’re so funny. Like, I recently saw this one with this boy and this girl who couldn’t get together so the girl’s butler dressed up like a horse...actually, I didn’t get that one.”

 

“Bastard, I don’t even give a damn ‘bout the plot never. Horse-butlers are good with me, don’t need to know no more.”

 

“I don’t know, I like knowing the story. People say you don’t need to know the story, in opera, you just need to know the music, but I like books that are good stories. I like stories, that have happy endings, more than the ones where everyone dies, which are generally not happy stories. Unfortunately, I had to learn a lot of sad stories, when studying opera.”

 

“Thou also knows secular music? Not just the sacred singings?”

 

“I studied both, in the conservatory, so I could go into any field, though opera is more lucrative. My family really need money, from my singing.”

 

“Ain’t just the music movin’ thee?”

 

“I’m not saying I hate music, just, money is very important, when you don’t have any.”

 

“I think I know a little what it is. I was poor bastard as a kid before I got my family’s attention and got someone to adopt me.” 

 

“Thou was an orphan?”

 

“Nah, I always had myself a living father, he just didn’t know he had a son, he couldn’t even believe it till he got his peepers on me and saw I had the same peepers.”

 

“Wait, thou was adopted, by thy birth father?”

 

“No, his half-brother got me on paper as his bastard, but I’ll always be Kurloz’s bastard.”

 

“Who’s Kurloz?”

 

Gamzee’s half-lidded eyes opened. “Damn, I meant someone not named Kurloz. Got my head messed up with the names of other fathers.”

 

Tavros thought about the name Kurloz. It was a rare name. The only time he had heard it was from this minor composer who had been dead a hundred years and...

 

“Pope Grand the First!” Tavros cried out. 

 

Gamzee sat up. “Huh? What? Is he here?”

 

“Um, no, he isn’t. I was just thinking, thy father, uhh, has the same name as the Pope, who is currently reigning, and is undergoing a vow of celibacy.”

 

“He didn’t vow off the ladies till he reached up his third decade.”

 

“Uhh, yes, I know that. He was a lawyer, right?”

 

“Our Pope, yeah, he trifled in the law of land for a score before turning to heavenly law.” Gamzee sighed. “I might have gotten myself into law if I wasn’t deemed too empty-headed.”

 

“Does thou wantest to be in law?”

 

Gamzee slapped his thigh. “Hell no, I wanna be too empty-headed for that! I ain’t interested in that blasphemy. Lucky thing they decided I would be in church. When the family up and came to me and told me I would always be in church, that’s what I always wanted.”

 

“So thou hast always wanted to become a priest?”

 

“Yes but...” He picked up some figurines. “...I also wanted to be a clown. Or a bard. Or a peddler. Or a whore.”

 

“A wh – a prostitute?”

 

Gamzee started juggling the figurines. “Or all them mixed together, don’t really matter, I ain’t nothin’ but a priest. How ‘bout thee? What has thou always wanted to up and be?”

 

Tavros’ eyes were fixated on the flying ceramic and couldn’t answer. Though Gamzee seemed surprisingly skilled at juggling, Tavros was worried any minute they would fall. Tavros’ prediction came true when the butler suddenly entered without either of them noticing. As the butler said “Father, your wine” Gamzee squeaked and dropped the figurines. Tavros gasped. Gamzee, instead of immediately turning his attention to the butler, looked mournfully at the figurines.

 

“Damn, I’ll have be gettin’ some new ones again. What was that, a Harlequin and a gypsy dancer and some other bastard? Ahh, miracles will bring me finer ones.” He looked up at Julio and smiled again to see the servant with a bottle of wine and two wine glasses on a tray. “Red Fruit!” he cried.

 

“I’m sorry, Father, do you want a maid to come in?” the butler asked.

 

“Nah, it ain’t maid time. ‘Tis Red Fruit time!”

 

The butler put the tray down on the table, uncorked the bottle, and poured two glasses. Gamzee quickly took a glass and gulped some down. Tavros also picked up a glass.

 

The butler said, “The kitchen said that dinner will be ready in half an hour.” 

 

“Thanks!” cried Gamzee, “Bring up us another Red Fruit bastard upon our feasting table on that half-hour.”

 

“And when do you want a maid to come in?”

 

Gamzee shrugged. “I’m not much interested in any maid. She can come after we get ourselves vacated. I want just me and mine shootin’ it in this parlor.”

 

“Yes, Father.” The butler then left.

 

That distraction over, Tavros tasted the “Red Fruit” wine. It wasn’t the best of wines but it did taste good if rather too sweet. 

 

“So the red fruit is strawberry, right?” Tavros asked.

 

“Eeyup, strawberries are the most red fruit there is of all red fruit. I love me this wine. Does thou?”

 

“I like it, though, it is unusual having such a sweet wine, in the middle of the day.”

 

“Why not partake the red fruit anytime? Time don’t matter...say, what were we talking about in times before?”

 

“Thou askedest me, what I wanted to be, when I was young?”

 

Gamzee leaned in. “Yeah, what did thou wantest to be?”

 

“Before I had the operation, I thought I would be a rancher, like my father, but then there was an, uhh, accident, I fell off a cliff, which meant I had to have my, uhh, part of my unmentionables removed, so I was sent to be a castrato.”

 

Gamzee scratched his chin. “Huh, funny miracle thee losing your balls up on the bottom of a cliff and flying on to be an important castrato.”

 

Tavros wondered if the priest was coyly mocking him. “’Tis the truth, really, I did not lie about that.”

 

“All the other castrati I’ve got myself the pleasure of up and meeting say they lost their sacks on purpose.”

 

Tavros gasped. “They admit that?”

 

“Eventually they squawk it. It’s best not to think of that blasphemy, no? Even if all the boys up in Italy lost their sacks to avarice, it’s just a blessed miracle God preserved thy baby fat voice.” Gamzee winked.

 

Tavros took in that wink. “Good, because that’s how it happened.” 

 

He took a sip of wine and then stared into the glass. “Actually, I wasn’t that upset the, uhh, accident, happened. I would have liked some warning, though you can’t really get warning an accident is coming, because otherwise tis not an accident, but still, I wasn’t sad over the loss. Those sacks, they didn’t belong to me, I wasn’t meant to have them. Uhh, is that blasphemy?”

 

“It ain’t blasphemy if the miracle accident happened, son. All of providence made that body happen.”

 

“God bless providence, then, Father.” He looked down at his breasts. “Though, it would be nice if providence also struck my breasts, in a non-lethal way, so they would be removed, since they are too female for me.”

 

Tavros looked up and saw Gamzee was taken aback by this comment. Tavros was afraid he went too far with his confession. 

 

However, Gamzee just said, “If it is meant to be happenin’, it damn well is meant to be happenin’.”

 

“We really should talk, uhh, of other subjects.”

 

“Thou art the guest, go talk about whatever thee wantest ourselves to talk about.”

 

“How about opera. Does thou ever go to the opera?”

 

“When I’m in the urban I go, but there ain’t no opera in my rustic cove. We get strollin’ players, but no opera.”

 

“That’s the same, for my hometown. Even though I’m in an urban center, I haven’t gotten the chance to see a professional production, that is, not a school production. I can’t even afford to stand.”

 

“Maybe thee can come share a sitting space with this bastard?”

 

“Thou hast a box?”

 

“Boxes ain’t for clergy. Folks ain’t quite understandin’ unless I with go the cassock. But I can get thee something on a chair.”

 

“That would be wonderful!”

 

“Tavuccio, I got plenty of miracles for thee.”

 

“Thou art very generous.”

 

“That’s just how a brother should be.”

 

Tavros replied with a smirk, “Ahh, but thou art a Father.”

 

Gamzee laughed. “That’s right, my son.”

 

Tavros rubbed his hairless chin. “There is this comic opera, that I’ve been wanting to see, about the fairy queen...”

 

“Oh, that one! I’ve been cravin’ it too. It’s got what’s-his-name, the bastard with the triple beauty marks, as the primo domo, right?”

 

“Oh, yes, he’s brilliant.”

 

They continued talking about the said opera for many minutes and emptied the bottle of wine. Eventually they got on to a different subject.

 

Gamzee sighed. “This city is as busy as the Gates of Hell. Too many things for a bastard to do. It won’t be like this when this bastard gets himself back to his parish, once Adventide starts.”

 

“Does not thou have a lot of work, in thy parish?”

 

Gamzee played with his zucchetto. “Funny thing is, I’m supposed to get all the reverend ministerin’ in my parish but mostly my deacon does everything,” he answered bashfully, “I can’t do nothin’ ‘bout it.”

 

“Hmm, why?”

 

“On account of the bishop telling the deacon to make it that ways. I can’t even do funerals, not no more since the Widow Murgia.”

 

“Uhh, what happened, with the widow?”

 

“When she croaked I declared at everyone she’d rise again by God’s Will, but she will eventually in the End of Days, right? Plus, they say I was a little too affectionate with the body but you can’t give too many goodbye kisses, can you?”

 

“Oh,” responded Tavros nervously.

 

“God didn’t make me that hard-workin’ or intelligent a soul but I feel I could get doin’ more good works than one Mass a week.”

 

“Thou didst a good job ministering to me, in my time of grief.”

 

Gamzee brightened. “Truth, truth, truth, brother. Thank thee!”

 

“I wish thou hadst been my priest, back in my home parish, since thou art much easier to talk to.”

 

“I would up and love to be thy personal confessor.”

 

“I’m not sure about that, but we can be friends.”

 

Gamzee raised an empty glass. “Here’s to that!”

 

At that time, a butler came in and announced his presences. “Father, your dinner is ready.”

 

Gamzee hopped up and went over to Tavros to help him off the too-small sofa. Gamzee then led his guest into the dining room. It was also a lovely room. There was a long painting of the Last Supper on one wall and on the other wall there was a view of a courtyard. In the center of the room was a long table. At the end of the long lonely table were two bowls of soup. The host and his guest sat across from each other.

 

“It smells so delicious,” Tavros said.

 

“And it’s only our start. Soup is one thing but pies are one damn great thing.” Gamzee sniffed the soup. “But this soup is fine idea, Tavuccio. We need some red fruit to go with it, right, my partner-in-feasting?”

 

Tavros agreed and Gamzee poured a glass for both of them. Before Tavros could drink, the priest spoke up.

 

“First, let’s get on our thanksgiving.”

 

“Oh yes, Father Gamzee.”

 

They bowed their heads and Gamzee started a prayer. 

 

“Oh Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, we are up and awestruck at thy endless bounty that thou have provided us. Like, how is it even a thing that little seeds turn into big arse plants just ‘cause you bury them? That’s a miracle. And cheese, that’s foul milk but it tastes fine. And thou hadst made all the chicks and moo-cows and piggies that get themselves slaughter, that’s a miracle too. Slice ‘em up and make ‘em bleed and you’ve got yourself sanguinaccio. Thou likest sanguinaccio, Tavuccio?”

 

Tavros raised his eyes briefly from his hands to answer. “I’ve never had it.”

 

“Thou should, chocolate and blood really go together, who’d have thought? Miracles. Anyway...thank thee, Triune God, for thy bounty. Amen.”

 

After that long rambling prayer, they started eating. The soup was as good as it smelled. 

 

“Thank you, for dinner. This is much better than the cheese I had in my room, which may be foul by now.”

 

“This is just the first course, brother!” Gamzee said as he broke his bread. “Next we’ll knock down some pies and when we’ve got our fill on, we’ll have fruit and a cuppa black beans, cash a bowl, then, maybe we could go down to the back parlor and do a little bussin’?”

 

Tavros choked his soup. Gamzee looked at him with concern.

 

“What’s wrong, too much pepper?”

 

Tavros coughed and wiped his mouth. “Bussing?”

 

“Thou ain’t knowin’ what that means? ”

 

“I do know what that means,” he protested, “It’s just...I...”

 

Tavros tried but couldn’t say more.

 

Gamzee broke in. “So, maybe we should lemon another day?”

 

Tavros finally got his tongue. “Father,” he growled, “I do not want to buss, any day. I had thought thy intentions were platonic, but instead, they are carnal. I am not a prostitute, for thee to buy with food, and tickets to operas.”

 

“Brother, I don’t want thee to be no whore,” Gamzee whined. 

 

Tavros ignored him. “I came to Rome to be a singer, and while I’m not doing a good job, on that front, I will not be a prostitute. I am a eunuch, but I’m not a catamite, because that’s not lawful.”

 

“It ain’t a sin for me to lie with thee.”

 

“I think, just because you are a priest, and the Pope’s son,” – Gamzee gasped – “doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want, to me. So, I think I should leave, and not eat any more of your food.”

 

The guest stood up, preparing himself to storm out right that minute without listening to his host try to change his mind. However, his host just sighed.

 

“I’ll get up the carriage for thee and get thee back to thy lodging.”

“That will be fine by me.”

 

The host rang for the butler and told him to tell the coachman to get ready. Tavros went outside to wait and stew. The day had been a waste. First, he sung a beautiful aria but didn’t get the job, then he thought he found a friend but the friend only wanted sex. He should have never bothered to make the journey to this town. The minute he got to his inn, he decided, he would pack up and find a ride back to Rome. His stomach hurt too much with anger to eat.

 

When the coachman rode up, Tavros felt embarrassed. He wondered if the perverted priest’s conversation with his coachman was a ribald joke directed at the eunuch. Did the priest attend the church just to procure a castrato for his afternoon entertainment? Their chance meeting didn’t seem so chance now. How many eunuchs had the priest seduced?

 

The coachman didn’t make any suggestive remarks but only asked the address of the inn. Tavros spent a quiet ride and soon reached the inn. He immediately went to his room and packed up his belongings. With his bundle on his back, he went down to the tavern and practically demanded a stranger to give him a ride home in exchange for all the money the would-be singer had on him. The stranger acquisitioned to the angry giant. The two left before the sun went down. Tavros sat in the back of the stranger’s cart, his wig in his knapsack, and watched the little town fade away. His anger turned to numbness and he fell asleep.

 

It was the middle of the night when his commandeered ride reached Rome. He paid the stranger the other half of his money. The stranger gave a prayer to St. Leonard of Noblac for his rider’s protection in the dark city streets and the rider was too sleepy and jaded to care. He felt sorry for his coldness later, but at that time, his mind was more on the prostitutes on the street than any thief. It seemed that night there were more eunuch whores than those born for women’s gowns. The whores would move towards him until they saw him better and realized he wasn’t man enough to be a john. The dismissal from the women never bothered him but tonight he sensed in the eunuchs’ eyes that they thought he was too big for his britches and would soon take on a gown. It was paranoia, but Tavros couldn’t shake it. 

 

His landlord wasn’t happy when Tavros knocked on the door so late at night but he let him in anyway. Tavros went up to his room, took off his shoes and breeches, and fell asleep on his bed. It wasn’t until morning that he opened the trunk under his bed and discovered it empty. He gasped loudly. One of his roommate, who had also been sleeping in that morning, woke up and turned to him.

 

“What’s happening, Signor Tavros?” he asked, “I thought thou wast out of town.”

 

“Luccio, all of the things, that I put in my trunk, are gone!”

 

“I thought thou ordered them brought to thee to that poduck town thou moved to. By the way, congratulations!”

 

“I didn’t get the job. And, I’m not moving, anywhere.”

 

“Huh? Marcus said thou wast. He packed them up and carried them off.”

 

Tavros growled, “Carried them off? And thou, just let him?”

 

“Isn’t Marcus thy friend?”

 

He sighed. “He was barely a friend. He was simply a man, who was like me. Now he isn’t a friend, at all.”

 

“I should never have trusted him either. Shifty bastard.”

 

“He even stole my student compositions, which I could have sold, theoretically, for money, even though my teachers said, that they were terrible.”

 

“He had to be through.”

 

The impoverished castrato put his head in his hands. “What am I going to do?”

 

“I could give thee some money, since this is sort of my fault.”

 

“But, thou barely hast any money.”

 

“It can be a loan!”

 

“Thou thinkst, I will be able to pay it back?”

 

“It will be easy for thee to pay it back! By Saint Cecillia, thy luck will change!” He scratched his morning stubble. “After all thou has been altered, while I am just another bearded man.”

 

“Thank you, for thy confidence, but my confidence is running low, since I have already tried to be a singer, for more than a month.”

 

“There are other jobs,” he said casually.

 

“Thou thinks I should make money, on the street?”

 

Luccio flushed. “I mean, maybe as a clerk or, Hell, as a day laborer? Are eunuchs strong? Thou looks strong despite the lack of manly vigor.”

 

“I am strong. And I’m strong in spirit.” He gave a weak smile.

 

“That’s the spirit! Thou wilt find something, Tavucchio!”

 

That nickname brought up the memory of a certain wealthy associate. He was deep in thought when he finally noticed a bag of money next to him. 

 

“Oh, thank thee!”

 

“It’s nothing,” the man said as he started shaving in the tiny mirror fragment on the wall, “Hopefully, if I see the bastard, I’ll slit his throat.” 

 

Tavros’ rent for the month was already paid up, so he didn’t have to worry about that. A few of the other tenants gave him a little food. Most just gave him platitudes. Instead of going out to get work, he mostly just laid in bed sleeping. The tenants began to get less sympathetic and more annoyed at his inaction. In truth, he did have an action in mind, but he couldn’t yet bring himself to do it. His dreams were filled with his future. He imagined himself on stage, performing with perfection, to the adoration of hundreds. He imagined himself living in a well-appointed villa, away from his tiny rented room. He imagined his family filled with pride and money. He imagined attending his sisters’ lavish weddings to grooms who could take care of them. He imagined happy days. He also imagined nights filled with hairy groping hands. All of these dreams would be the result of one choice.

 

That Monday a week later, he finally made that choice. He borrowed from Luccio some stationary, a quill, and enough ink to write a paragraph. 

 

“What art thou writing?” Luccio asked as Tavros hunched over a small table.

 

“A letter to a certain priest, that I met, when I went out-of-town.”

 

“Thou thinkst he might hire you?”

 

“He was very, uhh, interested in me, so I was thinking, I could live with him, and I would serve as his...client.”

 

Luccio patted his large friend on the back. “Wow, thou had a potential patron all along! Is he rich? Does he have connections with the pope?”

 

“Uhh, he is very rich, and uhh, he does have a very intimate connection with the pope, but...”

 

“But what?”

 

“He’s a deviant.”

 

Luccio stepped back. “I think I understand why it took thee so long to take this opportunity.”

 

Tavros turned in his chair. “Does thou think less of me?” 

 

“I was once beardless too. I know how it is.”

 

“Has thee...?”

 

He blushed. “It feels very strange but with enough oil and relaxation it doesn’t hurt.”

 

Tavros quickly turned away. “I’ll keep that, in mind.”    

In his letter, he wrote that he was sorry to run out on his host. He explained his current situation and asked if he could stay with the priest for the time being. In return, he would be a “most obliging guest” and do whatever his host desired. While the ink dried, he resisted the urge to crumple the paper up. He put it the letter in the envelope and sealed it up with wax before he could have second thoughts. That morning, he finally got himself properly dressed and went to the post office. With his borrowed money, he sent off the letter. He went back to the boarding house. The tenants who saw him come in praised him for going outside finally. Luccio, on the other hand, had a worried look and said nothing.

 

Tavros expected a letter in return but instead he received a carriage the next day. The coachman came in, introduced himself to the landlord as a servant of Father Gamzee Makara, and asked to see “Tavros the castrato”. Tavros overheard. The landlord didn’t get the chance to knock on the bedroom door before the honored guest ran out in only his undershirt and declared he was the eunuch in question. He then blushed and returned to quickly get dressed and stuff his few belongings into an oversized bag. The tenants were in a tizzy to see the young man who had so recently been brought low going away in an expensive carriage. He told everyone gathered that he would not be returning and he thanked everyone for their help. He received in return a few hugs and cheek kisses. Luccio, the friend who knew the most, whispered in Tavros’ ear as he hugged him, “I hope thou knows what thou art getting into.” Tavros didn’t answer. He left with the coachman and entered the carriage.

 

The carriage ride to the town was somewhat faster than the carts he travelled before but not by much. It still took several hours and Tavros had plenty of time to think. He spent his time rationalizing his move. He told himself lots of singers didn’t make it big before having a patron. He needed to get his foot in the door somehow. Many great singers had with their patrons an...intimate connection. It didn’t mean they didn’t have the talent. They just were being friendly to their patrons. It wouldn’t be hard to be friendly to Father Makara. They had gotten along fine that day. There were worse patrons the castrato could have had. The deviant priest hadn’t jumped him. He had been the gentleman. The client could deal with this.

 

The carriage took only one quick break midway and it arrived at the villa at sundown. Gamzee was waiting outside like a dog awaiting the return of its master. The minute Tavros left the carriage, Gamzee ran up and gave him a bear hug. Since he was a foot shorter than his target that meant his fuzzy head was between Tavros’ breasts. Tavros felt awkward but returned the hug. Finally, the little man drew back. 

 

“My son, my bastard, thou came back!” he cried.

 

“I am pleased to be back, Father...Gamzee.”

 

“Come into the house, I have meal nice and hot all awaitin’ for thee!”

 

The host took his guest’s hand with his. The little man had surprisingly big hands but they were bony. The guest followed him into the house and into the dining room. Like promised, there was a full spread laid on the table, more dinner-sized than supper, and two places set. They sat down at the same places as before. The host poured two glasses from a nice-looking bottle. The guest waited while the priest prayed.

 

“Oh Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, thank you for the return of my little lost calf Tavuccio! I praise you for the miracle that brought him here and the miracle that goes on keeping his voice so clean and pure for these chapels of mine. May he enjoy the choice as fine veal cutlets I’ve laid out for him and the Syrah I pour. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost...what does thou got to add, Tavuccio?”

 

The layman was caught off-guard. “Well, uhh, I’d like to thank God for our friendship, and for how I hope it lasts a long time, and that it brings higher things. By Saint Cecilla and Saint Luccio, Amen.”

 

The priest raised his glass. “Amen!”

 

They clicked glasses and drank. Tavros found it indeed Syrah or at least something other than strawberry wine. He couldn’t say for sure since he wasn’t an expert. He enjoyed the peppery wine though he wondered why Gamzee bought it when he seemed uncomfortable with it. He thought he caught his host making a face when he drank it. 

 

Tavros drank a good amount of wine not just because it was fine but also because he was nervous. His stomach was empty, having only had a snack during the break, but his appetite was somewhat constrained by his nervousness. On the other hand, his host drank only sips of the wine and ate like he hadn’t had any food all day. 

 

As Tavros took note of Gamzee, he noticed it seemed the man hadn’t been eating well into now. His skin was pale but his eyes were dark. His hands shook. Tavros was concerned. 

 

“Has thou been in good health, Gamzee?” he asked cautiously. 

 

“I’ve been filled up with that black bile but tis all easin’ out.”

 

“That’s good, to hear. I have been filled with bad humor, in my case, phlem.” He looked down at his food. “Though, I don’t know if this is the place to talk about such matters.”

 

Gamzee shrugged. “Food all turns into humors anyway. That’s the way the Lord works our bodies, so I’ve heard.”

 

“Does thou know much of natural philosophy?”

 

“I try not to know much.”

 

“That’s fine, I don’t know much other than music.”

 

“Music is a finer education than any natural philosophy bullshit. Not that I know that either.”

 

“I would like to know more. Perhaps when I have the money, I can buy a library?”

 

“I barely have a library myself. However, if thou wants a library, I would up and make one for thee.”

 

“For thee? I thank thee.” 

 

After the main course, a small selection of nuts and fruit was brought out. The beloved strawberry wine was also finally broken out and Gamzee drank that with relish. 

 

“So,” he said as he put down his empty glass, “How ‘bout we go to the smoking parlor after this?”

 

Tavros was busy crushing a walnut but it slipped from the cracker when Gamzee brought up this idea.

 

“Tonight?”

 

“Yeah, we can cash a bowl of hashish, the two of us.”

 

“What is...hashish?” Tavros asked warily.

 

Gamzee looked up to the side. “Tis a sticky thing, made of a green weed that gets itself smoked like the Persian do their tobacco, in big glass chambers with long arse pipes. Thou shalt see and smell it.”

 

“We shall just consume this strange tobacco?” 

 

The host lifted the bottle of strawberry wine. “And imbibe more wine! Is thou in?”

 

The castrato wasn’t much for smoking, having heard it was bad for the voice, but it was preferable to Gamzee’s original plans for that room. “I am in.” 

 

The well-born priest rang for his butler and told him to prepare the back parlor for “a magic ride”. When Gamzee and Tavros were done eating, the host helped his guest out of the chair and took him by the crook of his arm. He took him around the courtyard and through a hall into a small parlor with dark red walls. The fireplace was already lit. On a low table there was something that looked almost like a lamp, but it had two tubes coming out of the top. The glass was a blueish purple and there were little swirling ridges around it.  

 

“What is that?” Tavros asked.

 

Gamzee kneeled down and examined the lamp. “Tis a hookah. I bought it during a pilgrimage to the Levant.”

 

“Thou hast been on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land?” Tavros asked jealously.

 

The priest didn’t answer right away. When he was done examining the hookah, he stood up and went to the fireplace. With a poker, he picked up a small piece of charcoal and put it on the very top of the device. 

 

Gamzee stared at the burning charcoal and said, “Eeyup, and twas a fantastical journey it was! Tis truly the holiest of holy lands, every single inch! The cities and the people were covered in the brightest clothes and patterns and the food burned to the tongue but in a miraculous way! Though, the Jordan don’t roll as much as it could.” 

 

“And thou picked up this strange device there?”

 

“Ay, and I picked up the habit of imbibin’ the miracle plant of hemp. I have a half of my herb garden dedicated to it. Come, sit.”  

Tavros sat down on a low sofa with Turkish pillows. His host returned the poker to its proper place and sat down next to him. He picked up a tube from off the table and sucked deeply from the pipe at the end. After holding his breath in for ten seconds, he sighed out a cloud of blue-grey smoke. It smelled sweet and spicy.

 

“Tis pure and fresh!” the pilgrim declared, “Take over it, my son.”

 

Tavros took the other pipe and put it cautiously in his mouth. Gamzee watched him.

 

“Thou must inhale first, then hold thy breath in,” he advised.

 

Tavros inhaled deeply. The sweet smoke that filled his mouth was cooler than pipe tobacco but harder on the throat. He tried to hold his breath in as long as his host but he soon started coughing.

 

“That was all happenin’ the first time I took in that sweet smoke,” Gamzee said.

 

“I need a drink,” Tavros choked out.

 

Thankfully, there was already something to drink on the table. The host poured a glass of wine and handed it to his suffering guest. The guest downed it. He took another puff, thinking it would feel better, but it didn’t. He had to have a second glass of wine.

 

When the burning sensation dimmed, he started noticing how light-headed he felt. He had felt light-headed before during his few attempts at smoking tobacco but it was nothing compared to now. His head wasn’t just floating to the ceiling, it was floating over the building. The oriental patterns on the pillows and the rug started to squirm and wiggle like multicolored snakes. In fact, he couldn’t find any spot in the room that wasn’t moving. 

 

“How art thou feelin’?” asked the man beside him.

 

If Tavros concentrated, he could tell this man was Father Gamzee though his eyes were red and purple, and his hair was like Medusa’s. He knew the man demanded an answer.  

 

“Is this witchcraft?” Tavros asked the man of cloth before he could stop himself.

 

“Tain’t a sin,” the man of cloth answered, “Tis a miracle, my child.” 

 

Tavros rasped, “Why hast thou done this to me?”

 

The man scrunched his horrible face up. “Tis not goodly for thee?”

 

“How could anyone find this goodly?!”

 

The man’s face dropped until it almost looked like it was melting. “Tis not a miracle for all, I suppose. Thine host has all seen it before.”

 

“So wilts thou stop this torture?!”

 

“If only such miracle could stop itself! T’would make business all comin’ up at you an easy matter. Nay, thou must wait it out, like with alcohol.”

 

“Then I pray retire to a bed, away from this vile smoke!”

 

“If thou prayst, I’ll gather thee up to thy chamber,” he said with a shrug and a sigh.

 

The man got up slowly and uneasily, but he managed to get up. His large guest had a harder time of it. The man held out his hand and the guest took it while looking away, since he was disgusted by the bones. The host led him out of the scary room. Unfortunately, the hallway was also scary and all Tavros could do was trust the priest would save him from all evil. The priest picked up a candlestick off a sideboard, lit it with a hallway candle, and led the guest into a darken bedroom. Tavros was actually grateful for dark at the moment. The priest put the candlestick on a nightstand.

 

“Get thy rest on, brother, and feel free to drink from the pitcher.”

 

“More wine?”

 

“No, tis only water, but tis the freshest purest water from a blessed spring, not our heathen river.”

 

The priest left his guest as his guest sat on the bed and watched the flame dance. The flame looked like a little boy to the intoxicated guest. Looking at it was much better than glimpsing the wallpaper and bedspread. Eventually, he realized his host had left and it was time to sleep. Taking off his wig was easy enough but shoes seemed impossible to figure out. He didn’t bother with removing any other garment. He lay on the bed exhausted and clothed.

 

However, before he could fall asleep, worrying thoughts came into his head. He feared that if he fell asleep, the perverted priest would slip in and have his way with him. He wondered what he would do if that happened. His clothes would provide a hindrance but probably not enough to save him. He was bigger than the short man but he felt as if the strength had been sapped out of him. Even if he was strong enough, he would get in much trouble for injuring this well-connected priest. There was nothing to do but lie back. He wondered if it would be better if he was sodomized in his sleep than when he could feel it. It wouldn’t be much different than when he had his operation. Unfortunately, he could not force himself into sleep then.

 

Long hours passed and when he had given up all hope of sleeping, he somehow fell asleep without noticing. His dreams held demonic visions. 

 

When he woke up, everything hurt except for the part he expected to hurt. His mouth had felt dry all night but he had been too afraid to drink the water. Now he had no reservations and he downed the whole pitcher. The curtains had been left open enough for the room not to be in complete darkness. Foolishly, he opened them up more so he could see his way around the room. The light hit his eyes and he covered them while yelling some blasphemous words against the sun.  At that moment, the priest opened the door, letting more accursed light in.

 

“Good morn, my de-light-ful bastard!” he yelled.

 

“I pray thee, Gamzee, don’t shout,” Tavros croaked.

 

The priest looked sheepish. “My bad, Tavuccio, for gettin’ my greet on too harsh-like. Up and got too excited to remember what hangoverin’ feels like.”

 

“I think thy hashish, may have made the matter worse.”

 

“I wouldn’t be knowin’, though I found the hashish divine and had a miraculous night. Tis a shame thou could not join me. Yet could thou join me in breakfast?”

 

“I agree, though, I’m not sure my stomach will.”

 

“Let’s get some chicken eggs in thee.”

 

The two went into the dining room. Tavros quenched his seemingly unquenchable thirst on heavily watered-down wine and managed to eat half an omelet. Gamzee ate an omelet and some pastry that looked too sickeningly sweet to Tavros at that time. The meal made Tavros feel somewhat better though a dysphoria remained. 

 

After everything was cleared away, they went to the front parlor. Gamzee spent the time until dinner talking while Tavros occasionally commented. The host said nothing of substance and that was what the guest wanted to hear. The foreigner’s bizarre language had a lyrical quality to it and it was soothing to him. Tavros wondered if everyone where he lived talked that way or if it was a completely private language. The Italian dialects could be so different.

 

When dinner came, Tavros ate more heartily, though he drank nothing hard. Afterwards, he took a nice nap, this time actually taking off his clothes. When he woke up, he was cured of all his problems. He found his host in the back parlor smoking. Fortunately, the host was gracious enough to put out the pipe so his guest could breathe freely. This time, Tavros was the one talking away while Gamzee looked at him with his eyes barely open. His stupor wore off by the time supper came and they were both hearty enough to chat away till midnight. Tavros was happy when he put himself to bed but soon he became afraid again that Gamzee would slip him and take him this night. However, Gamzee didn’t come to take him that night. Eventually, Tavros fell asleep.

 

Gamzee did wake him in the morning, but it was only for breakfast. Tavros was fit enough to eat a pastry though afterwards he wondered if the rich priest got his baker to use a half-pound of sugar for each piece. At least there was bitter hot chocolate to wash it down. They didn’t spend the morning loitering at the table because Gamzee wanted to move on to another room. 

 

The room turned out to be the music room, not the bedroom, and Tavros was relieved though he didn’t know how ready his voice was. He did some warm-up exercises and Gamzee looked at him as if he were singing a hymn. When Tavros’ instrument was prepared and he sung an actually hymn, Gamzee would enthusiastically say back every line, often adding an “amen”. It was distracting and made the castrato stumble but he also found the priest’s enthusiasm encouraging and so the castrato didn’t care he was making mistakes. After a couple hymns, the priest’s tastes went to secular. After placing himself behind the harpsicord, he gave Tavros sheet music for an aria from a comic opera so bawdy it made Tavros blush. It was a woman’s piece, but it was in mezzo-soprano so it was in the castrato’s range. However, he really couldn’t get into the part of a prostitute. Luckily, after that song, the lusty priest felt like doing folk tunes. He got out a guitar and sang a Sicilian ballad.  His voice was reedy though his guitar playing was adept. More than that, Tavros was moved by how much it reminded him of the music from his homeland. Tavros sung along the best he could without knowing the language. Gamzee went from song to song and eventually threw down the guitar and pulled Tavros into a dance. Gamzee did a good jig while Tavros mostly walked in place and clapped to an imaginary beat. 

 

They had worn themselves out by dinner so they spent a long leisurely time at the dining table. That afternoon, they walked in the priest’s garden. It was more a hemp farm than an aesthetic wonderland but it was still nice to be outside. The air smelled much better than in the city. They got the notion to play tennis on the lawn. The stable boy set up the net and fetched the ball when it went far away from bounds. Almost every time Gamzee hit the ball, it went flying, so the stable boy was busy. Gamzee and Tavros didn’t care that the score was love-love. Eventually they just quit and went inside. 

 

Having shown the garden, Gamzee now gave his figurine collection a proper introduction. The two ended up on the floor with the figurines making their own impromptu opera. A figurine got broke and Gamzee just vowed to buy two more in its place.

 

After supper, the priest suddenly acted priest-like. He put on his cassock and took the castrato to his private chapel. They kneeled down together in front of the small but crowded altar. The priest grasped a crucifix in his hands it looked like it could cut and mumbled prayers to himself as he rocked back and forth. Tavros tried not to eavesdrop on the priest’s Latin mumblings but instead whispered his own prayers. He reached the bottom of his list of acquaintances he could pray for and his knees ached from the heavy weight put on them but the priest kept praying and Tavros didn’t know how to stop him. Finally, the priest collapsed. Tavros helped him up. Tavros wondered if the priest’s devotions were genuine or an act with the worldly way he normally behaved in. 

 

On Friday morning, Gamzee woke him up again but it was not for breakfast. Instead, they returned to the chapel and the priest prayed like he had before, except without collapsing. Tavros felt like collapsing though. After an hour, the priest had his fill so they went and filled up with food. When they were finished, they went into town to shop. Gamzee took Tavros to the tailors for a new wardrobe. The huge man was measured and then sat down with a book of fashion plates. He didn’t know much about fashion and he was uncomfortable spending too much of the priest’s money so he chose simple styles. His only preference was for the color green. Gamzee seemed disappointed by Tavros’ dull choices but didn’t try to talk him out of it. They left the tailors to do their work and went to a curio shop. The shopkeeper knew the wealthy priest well enough to show him a selection of new commedia dell’arte figurines. Gamzee bought ten of them. They had their fish dinner at a fairly middling restaurant before returning to the villa. Again, they played with the figurines like they were little children. The Sicilian told folk stories from his homeland and the Spaniard proved his own. Their time was interrupted by the hashish lover going to take a smoking break. Tavros spent that time in Gamzee’s modest library trying to find something interesting to read. When Gamzee was done, the two reunited and had supper. After supper, Gamzee and Tavros went to the chapel and prayed until it was time for bed.

 

The next morning, the new clothes were delivered by the tailor’s apprentice. Before having breakfast, Tavros modelled them for an appreciative Gamzee. When all the clothes were tried on and the tailor’s apprentice was given the money, Gamzee took Tavros into the chapel and they gave thanks to everything garment related. When that was done, they finally got around to breakfast. As breakfast was cleared away, a papal representative came and Tavros was rushed away to the far end of the villa. Whatever the business was, it left Gamzee looking sad and drained. Tavros didn’t ask him what happened and Gamzee didn’t tell him. In response to whatever happened, Gamzee spent the next hour smoking his hashish. Tavros was tempted to join him. Gamzee certainly did look happy and well afterwards. They amused themselves for the rest of the day and the matter seemed forgotten. However, that night, Gamzee prayed to every relevant saint for Pope Grand IV’s well-being. Tavros, on the other hand, didn’t want to think of Pope Grand IV. Grand IV had always scared Tavros and it was now awkward for Tavros to have the pontiff’s illegitimate son kneeling next to him. 

 

Sunday morning, Tavros chased away his nightmares of Pope Grand IV and got dressed in one of his new outfits. Gamzee dressed in his cassock but he didn’t officiate.  It was intimidating going back to the place where he failed only two weeks before but he had his fan Gamzee with him. The eunuch the choir master had hired instead of Tavros sang and Gamzee whispered in Tavros’ ear that Tavros was better. Tavros blushed and shushed him. Other than that aside, Gamzee was well-behaved in church. After the Mass, people swarmed around him. Tavros wondered if any of them suspected the simple parish priest from Sicily was the pope’s son. 

 

Eventually, Gamzee left the people behind, and he and Tavros took the carriage back home. Tavros assumed an important man like Gamzee would have guests over for Sunday dinner. However, they were alone. Tavros asked why and Gamzee said he wanted to have an intimate dinner. Though Tavros was curious to meet Gamzee’s friends, he was also intimated by the idea of meeting important people. 

 

That evening, Gamzee suggested that Tavros take a bath. Tavros was unnerved by the idea since he wondered if Gamzee wanted to join in and give a more intimate cleaning. However, Tavros didn’t have to share the bath with anyone. A dropcloth was set on the floor of Tavros’ private bedroom and a big copper bathtub was brought in. Servants filled it with steaming scented water. Other than the maid, no one else was in the room when Tavros took his bath. The peasant’s son had never had a bath alone. As a child, his family had bathed together every spring. In school, he had bathed with his schoolmates. Since coming to Rome, he patronized the public baths. Having his own tub with warm fresh water was a luxury. After Tavros took his bath, his wealthy host had the water-filled tub brought to the smoking parlor so he could smoke and stew. He came out red-faced and bushy-eyed, but his hair was still a mess. They had supper and later they prayed again in the chapel.

 

The following week passed much the same, as was the week after that. It was mostly merriment and leisure: drinking, eating, talking, singing, dancing, tennis, cards, even children’s games of make-believe. Interrupting the gaiety was mysterious business from the Vatican that left the host drained. However, the host would just disappear to the smoking parlor and come back like nothing happened. Tavros tried the hashish one more time and that was the last time. Even with all this gaiety, the host was still a fairly religious man, praying every morning and every night, though he never managed to keep the full liturgy of hours. In all their time together, it was just them. The Vatican representative was the host’s only other visitor. 

 

Tavros was having fun but he wondered what he was doing. These amusements were not forwarding his career. However, he couldn’t bring himself to care much. After working so hard all his life, it was too much of a relief to just do nothing. He was also relieved Gamzee hadn’t made any advances. Possibly Tavros had misunderstood Gamzee and there was never any lust in the priest for him. Gamzee didn’t treat him like a whore.

 

On the third Friday, the parish priest got a message from the Vatican that made him happy instead of sad for once. This time, the message wasn’t a secret. Gamzee told everyone in the villa ten times that he was going to see the pope. He called it a miracle upon miracles. This would be his fourth time seeing the pope and Gamzee seemed prepared to declare the day a feast day. Tavros kept in the back of his mind that Pope Grand IV was likely Gamzee’s father or at least his uncle. Four audiences was more than most parish priests could dream of but it was trifling few for a close relative of the pope. Tavros knew it was wrong to think ill of the pope but he couldn’t help but feel “Kurloz” was a negligent father.

 

During the time Tavros knew him, Gamzee had never said anything about his official adopted father, and as much as he praised Pope Grand IV, he never talked about him in a personal way. Instead, he talked about his mama, though Tavros wasn’t sure if the woman he described was his birth mother or a nanny. Mama lived in a little house on the hills near the ocean. Despite being in the hills, Gamzee described a great many men making the hike to see his mama. The men would give the little boy many sweets and toys and affection and Gamzee could remember them clearly even now. Tavros figured out that Mama was a prostitute but didn’t say anything. Then, suddenly, little Gamzee was shipped off to seminary and whatever happened next, the adult Gamzee found it too dull to talk about. His life began anew when he went to the Holy Land. His descriptions of the Holy Land sounded like a dream, but he had enough souvenirs to prove he went. Though Gamzee could be a detailed storyteller, there were always mysteries in his story and even gentle prodding only brought non-sequiturs. Tavros didn’t bother with much investigation. 

 

On Saturday, Gamzee and Tavros again went into town to shop. Or rather, Gamzee left Tavros in a wig shop with enough money to buy three wigs while he attended to some business. Tavros asked if the business had to do with the pope and Gamzee simply said “Somewhat.” and left. Tavros didn’t mind being in the wig shop. His only wig looked like a horse’s arse since it was made of horse’s hair. If he was going to be a performer, he need real human hair. Though he wasn’t much for fancy clothes, he inherited his father’s love of hair. After much indecision, he chose a wig that piled up in the center like a pyramid. By the time his head was fully measured, Gamzee came back. He loved Tavros’ choice in wigs, though Gamzee kept his hair natural. They left the shop and ate dinner at a restaurant before returning home.

 

On Sunday after Noon Mass, Gamzee loitered a long time at the church. It frustrated Tavros but he felt he couldn’t tell a priest to leave a church, especially not because he was eager to play cards. Instead of cards, Gamzee walked Tavros around the church and gave passionate but somewhat unreverent commentary on all the murals and icons. Tavros did have to admit the artwork was skilled; he had noticed that every holy place in the Papal State, no matter how small, had the most beautiful art. Though the commentaries started interesting enough, Gamzee always seemed to lose the point at the end and he would just stare blankly until Tavros roused him. This wasn’t that unusual for Gamzee but it usually happened in the evening when he was full of wine and hashish. 

 

Then, at the conclusion of one story, Gamzee suddenly asked, “Brother, doest thou love me?”

 

“Why should I not love thee?” Tavros replied, “Thou hast used me, well.”

 

“But does thou love me?” he asked again, almost angrily.

 

“I love thee, of course. Have I done something, that is wrong, to thee?”

 

“Thou hast done all that is perfect.”

 

Tavros sighed in relief. “So, how does the story end?”

 

“The story ain’t matterin’ now. Come get with me to the main altar.”

 

They left the alcove they were in and went to the cleared altar.  Gamzee looked around and Tavros found himself looking around too. The only other soul in the chapel was an acolyte who was sweeping the floors in preparation for None. Tavros didn’t know who or what his friend was looking for. Then Gamzee grabbed Tavros’ left hand with his strangely clammy right. Tavros turned his attention to back to him.

 

“I have a present for thee,” Gamzee said in a singsong voice.

 

“I thank thee.”

 

Gamzee tried to get something out of his cassock with his left hand but the item slipped and fell on the floor. The sound of metal on the stone floor briefly alerted the acolyte before he went back to his work. Gamzee scurried over to the glinting item and picked it up. He ran back to Tavros. Tavros looked at the item in his hand and discovered it was a gold ring.

 

“I give onto thee this miracle ring to token my affections.”

 

Tavros was wearing the clothes and the wig Gamzee bought but jewelry was new. This was a new stage. 

 

“Tis lovely,” he said as he reached out.

 

However, Gamzee pulled back his hand. “Let’s not be hasty, my bastard.”

 

“Huh? Hasty with what?”

 

“There are things needin’ sayin’ by thee and me.”

 

“What should I say? A prayer? I can say that.”

 

Gamzee whispered the best he could in the acoustically-tuned chapel, “A voice to God, aye, but a soft one.”

 

“I can be soft.”

 

“Does thou love me?”

 

“I’ve said, many times, I do.”

 

“Is thou loyal to me?”

 

Tavros wondered who else the connected priest thought this poor unemployed castrato was loyal to. “Y-yes, thou hast my allegiance.”

 

“Would thou be with me if I was hackin’ in my bed nearin’ heaven?”

 

“I would tend to thee.”

 

“Would thou be with me if I got no riches?”

 

“I would help thee, with charity, if I could.”

 

“Does thou swear this?”

 

“Swear?”

 

Gamzee’s whispering got louder. “In the holy name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, doest thou swear?”

 

“Yes, I swear!” 

 

“Then, damnit, I swear every single thing by all of God and all the Saints and Angels!”

 

The acolyte looked at them and Tavros felt embarrassed.

 

Gamzee said to the acolyte, “Hail, Luigi! Good workin’!” 

 

“H-hail, Father Makara,” the confused boy replied.

 

Gamzee chuckled nervously and then spaced out.

 

Tavros whispered to him, “Does thou want me to say more?”

 

Gamzee was startled and dropped the ring again, but he soon picked it back up again. He grabbed Tavros left hand again with his right. The short man’s hands were small compared to the eunuch’s great paw but his grip was firm, even painful. He put the gold ring on Tavros’ left ring finger.

 

“A miracle,” he whispered reverently, “I ain’t got nothin’ but a glove for measurin’ but I got thy fingers exact as an orbit.”

 

On his part, Tavros found the ring was a little on the tight side, but he wasn’t going to complain.

 

“Brother, let’s get our kneelin’ on,” Gamzee whispered, “One last prayer.”

 

They got into prayer position in front of the altar. Tavros’ knees hurt quickly.

 

The priest started in Latin, “Oh glorious twin martyrs Saint Serigus and Bacchus, come on and hear our prayers...”

 

Tavros had not heard his religious friend invoke those saints before but Tavros had a good memory for saints. He knew the sainted pair lived three centuries after the birth of Christ, when Christians were persecuted. The two were high-ranking officers but they refused to worship pagan gods. Emperor Galerius had them parade around in women’s attire to shame them before sending them to Mesopotamia for trial. Bacchus was tortured to death but his spirit provided succor to his friend Sergius. Sergius was also tortured to death, in due course. After their death, they performed miracles like saving the future emperor Justinan from being executed. They were the patrons of soldiers and Syria, and their feast day had passed so Tavros wondered why Gamzee chose them. Was there something Tavros was missing?

 

“...and in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, amen,” the priest finished.

 

Tavros was so busy reciting the hagiography of the saints in his head he hadn’t been paying attention to what priest said. “Amen.”

 

Tavros quickly relieved himself of kneeling on the floor and looked down at his friend. His friend was crying. “Art thou well?” Tavros asked.

 

Gamzee took out his handkerchief. “Aye, aye, tis just...all is so damn beautiful up in this church.”

 

“Tis lovely, outside, as well.”

 

Gamzee finally got up. He turned to the acolyte again. “Fare thee well, Luigi!”

 

“Farewell too, Father Makara.”

 

Gamzee and Tavros went home, where dinner had long been ready. Tavros was famished, but Gamzee had long prayers. The meal eventually did start and Tavros ate heartily. Then, before Tavros could get more food, Gamzee stopped him.

 

“It ain’t doin’ to be too full up before the next course.”

 

“What are we having? A large cake?”

 

“This course ain’t food but something active.”

 

“A game?”

 

“A course of fuckin’, of course.”

 

Tavros’ jaw dropped. This was the moment he had been waiting for before he forgot to wait for it. His patron was directly propositioning him.

 

“Tis a bad night?” Gamzee asked. 

 

“Tis a Sunday. Is it not done to, uhh, fuck, on the Sabbath?”

 

“It ain’t work but leisure and we’ve been doin’ plenty of that these Sundays.”

 

“True, true.” Tavros now felt guilty for every Sabbath he broke. They had all led to this point.

 

“So wilt thou join me in leisure?”

 

“Thou means, for thou, to lie with me?”

 

“Aye, lying in many positions.”

 

“Thou said, for thee, to lie with me, is not a sin, though the Holy Book says otherwise. What doest thou mean?” Tavros asked as if it were a theoretical question and not an eventuality.

 

“Aye, our most Holy Word says it is a sin for a man to lie with a man as if he were a woman, but....” Gamzee put his right elbow on the table and leaned in. “...thou art neither a man nor a woman, being thou a eunuch and all.”

 

Tavros wanted to argue against that. Those words were fighting words. He had heard of a castrato challenge a man to a duel over words like that and actually win. Yet Tavros had no fight in him. It was simply a fact that he was neither male nor female and slitting a priest’s throat wouldn’t change that. Perhaps he had been neither male nor female at birth and the “accident” corrected that.

 

“True, I am neither sex, though, I still want spoken to, as male,” Tavros said more to the world in general than to the man across from him.

 

“Fair enough, brother. But what say thee to fuckin’? I ain’t hearin’ no answer.”

 

Tavros figured he might as well give in now instead of trying to delay the moment forever. He needed to be brave.

 

“I shall,” he said softly.

 

Gamzee grinned incredibly wide. “Haha, my blushin’ virgin, I am gonna make thee never regret this night.”

 

Tavros stood up. “I shall go to thy bedchambers.”

 

“Don’t be too hasty! Thou art too mixed up now. Get thee up into thine own chamber and rest thy stomach till it drops.”

 

“Drops where?”

 

“Then, past half the clock face, I shall have the maid clean thee on the inside then the outside.”

 

“Inside?”

 

“That medical-type nonsense with water up inside thee gettin’ out the humors.” 

 

“Oh, an enema,” Tavros mumbled.

 

“It ain’t that necessary, the miracle can still happenin’ without it, but tis just better to be careful.”

 

“I shall do it,” Tavros answered tensely. 

 

Gamzee got up. “I’m takin’ first bath, does thou mind?”

 

“Thou art the lord master of the house,” Tavros answered weakly.

 

So Tavros retired to his bedroom and lay on the bed with only his wig and shoes off. The sun was dying through the half-open window curtains. He could hear Gamzee attempting to sing an entire opera from his master bedroom, the copper tub amplifying the sound. Tavros tried to follow the opera but his mind was on the upcoming event. 

 

Even though Tavros had been castrated early in life, he had never totally ruled out the possibility of obtaining carnal knowledge in his lifetime. There were castrati who had relationships with women, sometimes even marrying them (under Protestant rites). However, Tavros didn’t know how they consummated their passion. Those castrated before their manly growth had members so small they were enveloped by fat. He had once asked a castrato with a lady love how he satisfied her and he made a strange gesture with his fingers and tongue that just confused Tavros. Though most men wished for virgins, Tavros wanted a woman who knew what that gesture meant. 

 

He did find the feminine sex appealing enough. He wasn’t obsessed with their beauty like intact men seemed to be but it was pleasing to see a beautiful woman. It wasn’t just women and girls who had feminine beauty though. He felt a flutter sometimes when he saw androgynous young men but that could be jealously. Gamzee Makara was not beautiful either in the feminine sense or the masculine sense. He was actually a bit ugly to be honest. He had a feminine voice, if nothing else. 

 

The singing stopped around the same time the maid came in with a lit candlestick for the dark room and a clyster pipe for Tavros. As she helped Tavros, he wondered if she had had to do this often for her master’s guests. The procedure went well enough; Tavros felt odd after it was done but he wasn’t in pain. The copper tub was brought in and surprisingly it had fresh warm water. He couldn’t relax much. When he was done washing everything three times, he told the maid he was done. She dried him and put him in a long clean white linen shirt. The maid led him to her master’s bedchambers. Tavros reluctantly entered.

 

The room smelled of hashish and incense though Tavros could see no smoke, just one candelabra on the nightstand. From what Tavros could see in the low-light, it was decorated in a lavish oriental style similar to the smoking parlor, but in a blueish shade. The centerpiece of the room was a large canopy bed with the curtains open. The master of the bedroom stood in front of the bed dressed in a shift like the one his guest wore.

 

“Tavuccio!” Gamzee called out with his arms open, “Thou fuckin’ came!”

 

“I wouldn’t run away,” Tavros responded though he wondered if he could have.

 

The host locked the door and then threw his arms around his guest’s neck. “Buss me on the lips, my bastard.”

 

Tavros leaned in and cocked his head so Gamzee could kiss him. Gamzee readily took the opportunity. He pressed hard and rubbed his tongue over Tavros’ teeth until Tavros figured he was supposed to open his mouth. He did and Gamzee’s tongue went in. It was an odd and new situation for Tavros and he couldn’t say he liked it very much. Gamzee’s tongue was large and probing and it tasted like an odd mixture of strawberry wine and that damn hashish. Though Gamzee’s face was freshly shaved there were still enough hair on his chin to tickle the beardless eunuch. Gamzee seemed to be enjoying the kiss. He moaned and pulled back only to attack again. Tavros was breathless but not in a good way.

 

Finally, Gamzee took his arms off of Tavros and walked backwards to the bed. “Come on and get thyself into the light, my bastard.”

 

Tavros stepped closer to the light source on the nightstand. 

 

“Get them clothes off thee, I wanna see the miracle of castration.”

 

Tavros took off his shirt and placed it on the ground. Gamzee looked him up and down and up and leered at him. The eunuch wasn’t shy about being nude in front of people, it couldn’t be helped to be nude, but not when they were actually looking and especially not when they were appraising him and talking about him as a “miracle”. His body was ungainly and odd. His Moorish-like dark skin could not cover the red and white marks from growing up too fast. His breasts were pendulous and his nipples were too large. He wasn’t ashamed of his crotch though. When Gamzee bore holes in Tavros’ nipples with his eyes, Tavros used both hands to cover them up but he left his crotch exposed.

 

“Damn, that is a sight, my Adam and Eve rolled up in one,” Gamzee declared, “Now let me off my clothes and get like Eden.”

 

He took off his shift revealing his ungainly body. His arms and shoulders were muscular, as were his thick thighs, but the rest of his body lacked tone. His hair was distributed oddly, with his thighs, stomach, and upper arms as hairless as the eunuchs but his lower arms, lower legs, and upper chest a thick thatch of hair. His hips belonged on a woman and his feet belonged on a giant. Tavros’s eyes were soon drawn to Gamzee’s groin. Gamzee’s half-hard member was longer than Tavros wanted it to be. In Gamzee’s breeches, the bulge hadn’t been so big but now it was like all the ancient jokes said about clergy. Below it, his eggs were pendulous and hairy.

 

Gamzee went to the bed and patted the sheets. Tavros sat down and was surprised at how cheap the sheets felt. He had expected better from the wealthy priest but he realized the sheets might get messy. The short man took his place on the left of the giant eunuch’s lap and started kissing him on the ear. Tavros took one hand and gently stroked Gamzee’s member not as much to arouse him but to check the size. Though it was long, it was thin and that brought relief to Tavros. He had hated Gamzee’s tongue in his mouth but he found himself enjoying how it felt on his neck and ear. It felt soothing but it did not arouse Tavros. 

 

“God’s blood, thou tastes fine,” Gamzee spoke into Tavros’ neck.

 

“Th-thank thee.”

 

Gamzee then bit Tavros’ neck. Tavros winced not in pain but in shock.

 

“That too much?” Gamzee asked.

 

“Not again, Father.”

 

“I’m not Father, just friend, my bastard.”

 

Gamzee continued on licking as before. His member pressed into Tavros’ stomach and he was almost humping the fat. He seemed to be getting more pleasure out of this than Tavros, though Tavros was coming to enjoy it. Gamzee gently pushed Tavros’ shoulders and he took that as a sign to lie down. Gamzee laid back beside him and put his arm on Tavros’ chest. With his bony hand cupping Tavros’ left breast, he put the nipple in his mouth. Tavros had never wanted his feminine breast before but as Gamzee pleasured them the eunuch praised them as a miracle. Gamzee got on top of Tavros’ chest and started pleasuring both nipples in turn. They hardened under his care.

 

“Them tits is a miracle,” Gamzee said, “God’s gift unto thee. If only they had milk of life.”

 

Milk or not, when Gamzee had had his fill, he got off Tavros’ chest. Tavros sat up with disappointment.

 

“What is it, that’s wrong?” Tavros asked.

 

“Just want thee to lie thyself back on the pillow all vertical on the bed with them long legs spread out.”

 

Tavros moved into position and found it more comfortable than the last. Gamzee laid himself on his stomach with his fuzzy head between Tavros’ thighs. Tavros wondered what Gamzee thought of the sight of a crotch bare except for a sheathed nub. At a little more than an inch, the eunuch was endowed enough for his type to pee standing up if needed, though it was easier sitting. He didn’t know how big he was erect since he hadn’t experimented.

 

Gamzee rubbed the nub with his palm. “What a damn cutie. I gotta taste it.”

 

“Taste it?”

 

Gamzee answered by putting his mouth on the nub. His mouth was so warm and wet, and as pleasing as the foreplay had been, only now did Tavros’ penis fill with blood. He felt himself get longer and thicker and even though he was sure his penis wasn’t bigger than three inches it felt that way. 

 

Gamzee popped his mouth off of it. “I knew thou could rise up. God has endowed thee with enough heat.”

 

“I want, thy heat, thy mouth,” Tavros said gasping.

 

“I got more places to wet, Tavuccio.”

 

Gamzee instead of putting the nub back in his mouth, his tongue traveled along where the eunuch’s eggs would normally be down to Tavros’ anus. It was filthy and perverse enough that the priest put his mouth on Tavros’ privies but this was disgusting. However, Tavros didn’t care because it was so pleasurable. He preferred the priest’s tongue in his arse to something larger. He supposed his arse was clean enough. His body started relaxing under the priest’s care. 

 

However, to Tavros’ disappointment, eventually Gamzee stopped. He sat up on his knees and Tavros could see the man’s erection had diminished a little though it was still big. The short man reached towards the nightstand before stopping.

 

“Can thou gets me some pitcher?” he asked.

 

Tavros handed him the pitcher and Gamzee drank straight from it. Plenty of it spilled from the pitcher to his already wet chest. It seemed like he drank half the pitcher. He pulled it away from his face and gave a sheepish look.

 

“Sorry,” he said, “Thou tastes like a miracle, but a rather queer miracle it is.”

 

Tavros didn’t want to imagine how he tasted or think about how Gamzee would taste if he made Tavros reciprocate. Despite not doing much, he was thirsty as well and when Gamzee gave him the pitcher he drank deeply from it. When he put it back on the nightstand, Gamzee asked for something new.

 

“Give me the vial of oil.”

 

Tavros remembered his once-beardless friend’s advice and tensed up. Despite his fears, he handed Gamzee the yellow-green vial.

 

Tavros asked, “Is that, a special oil?”

 

Gamzee replied as he dabbed the oil on his fingers, “Tis a miracle, aye, but tis a common one straight from the olives with nothin’ additional. Twill open thee up all the same.”

 

Tavros was disappointed the oil wasn’t a special type with the medical ability to sooth pain. It didn’t even smell like decent olive oil; it had a slightly rancid smell of the cheap kind. It made sense though even a wealthy man wouldn’t put the best oil up someone’s arse.

 

Gamzee plugged up the vial and let it lay on the bed. “Lay back down, brother, and relax thy whole self.”

 

Tavros laid down but it was hard to relax. He looked up at the canopy celling and waited. Around his arsehole he felt the cool oil being swirled by Gamzee’s finger. 

 

“What a damn pretty little bud thou has,” Gamzee cooed, “Waitin’ impatiently for my fingers.”

 

Gamzee then pushed a long bony finger into Tavros. Tavros tensed up for a moment only to realize it wasn’t that bad. It was only one finger. He had already had a metal syringe in him earlier this evening and that had been unpleasant. This finger felt queer but it at least was warm. Another finger went in and that wasn’t so bad. It was when the fingers started pushing apart that the burn came. Tavros gasped.

 

“Brother, relax, let me stretch thee,” Gamzee whispered, “Keep thy breathin’ steady like the wind on the beach.”

 

Tavros remembered his breathing exercises from all his education. He never thought they would be useful in this situation. The burn gradually turned into a pleasant tingle. His tiny penis started growing again. 

 

“I like feelin’ all up thine insides with my touchin’ fingers,” Gamzee said as he withdrew his fingers, “But I need to be more inside, inside with my prick.”

 

Tavros heard the vial being opened again and he sat up to see his partner slicking his hardening member with oil that made it glistened in the candle light. The virgin laid back down again so he wouldn’t have to see it. He soon felt the head on his sensitive arsehole. Gamzee put his both hands on Tavros’ fatty sides to steady himself and pushed his hips into Tavros. Both Tavros and Gamzee took a huge breath at the same tense moment. The head popped in easily and slowly but surely the entire length went in till Gamzee’s spared eggs were against Tavros’ bottom. It was all very anti-climactic after the way Tavros feared this moment. He figured that either in his virgin ignorance he had overestimated the perverted priest’s size or there was some miracle in the oil. He could deal with the pleasant tingle for five minutes are so.

 

After Gamzee had thrust at five different angles, Tavros discovered another miracle when his partner hit a spot that made lights flash in his eyes. It was a pleasure he thought would never happen but here it was. Until that time, he had thought of being buggered as something people just endure for compensation or because they had no choice. He didn’t know there was a pleasure in itself from it. This news was accompanied by a loud uninhibited moan from the castrato. His partner slowed almost to a stop.

 

“Tis foul or fair?” he asked smugly.

 

“Fair, fair, oh please, Father, quite fair!” Tavros pleaded desperately.

 

“Call me Gamzee, Tavuccio.”

 

“Gamzee, Gamzee, Gamzetto!”

 

On the -zetto, Gamzee started thrusting again. He didn’t always hit that perfect spot but the castrato was near constantly moaning at each thrust. The castrato had a lot of lung power in his huge body.  

 

The priest hummed over the castrato’s moans, “That’s right, sing that fuckin’ aria of pleasure. Tis the right fair accompaniment of this sacrament.” 

 

“Thanks, thanks,” the castrato said between gulping breaths as if Gamzee was praising his musical arts and not his carnal.

 

“Thanks is to thee, not me, for this pleasure.” 

 

“Thy pleasure? I didn’t not know, my pleasure could be, occurring, but it is! What is it?”

 

“Tis the miracle of the arse, brother.” Gamzee leaned into Tavros as far as he could with Tavros’ belly in the way and whispered, “Truth, I got myself learned of it as a stubbled youth.” 

 

This disturbing revelation made the virgin clench up. The stubbled adult stopped and sighed.

 

“But I am long confessed of that and the sodomitin’ bastard is long hung and dead, so never thee mind.”

 

The priest continued as if he hadn’t given away that secret and the virgin decided if the priest didn’t care than neither should he. He unclenched and let the pleasure come back.

 

The pleasure did come back and it grew and grew inside of him. He had thought feeling such warmth would have been physically impossible but here it was. How this would climax he didn’t know. If he had his testicles, he would spend semen. If he had a womb, he would create whatever women created. Would he instead have a third-sex thing? Or would he plateau forever?

 

Time passed and the candle continued melting and he continued to plateau. Suddenly, his time to peak came. His whole body felt his orgasm, from his shaking legs to his big belly to his pickling scalp, though he didn’t feel it much in the place a man would normally feel it. When his panting and gasping slowed down, he noticed his partner was still going.

 

“Thou reached the top?” Gamzee asked proudly.

 

Tavros only nodded.

 

Gamzee held up two glossy fingers. “Thou created clear honey for me with God’s help.”

 

Tavros squinted his eyes unbelieving at the substance on the priest’s fingers. He then threw his head back and panted more.

 

Gamzee grabbed onto his large partner’s stomach again and answered Tavros’ unasked remark, “Sorry, I’m kinda...long-winded. Tis God’s gift to me.”

 

Tavros wondered if this gift was delivered via the foreign hashish the priest smoked twice a day. The eunuch didn’t know exactly how long the normal man was supposed to last. The intact men around him bragged about pleasuring their women for a full hour or two but when they detailed their affairs it seemed they all took about the time it took to change acts. Was the priest blessed with the staying power laymen bragged about?

 

If the priest had an unusually long staying power, the eunuch had a quick recovery. His penis, tiny as it was, was still going strong. His body felt a little oversensitive but he could still feel pleasure. It grew again inside him and it was as surprising as it was the first time. This time it didn’t plateau but peaked immediately. His tired body was wracked with another orgasm and this one was even better than the first. It left him feeling drained.

 

Gamzee again noticed this. “Thou hast spent twice! Oh, tis time for me to bring mine for third!”

 

He suddenly pounded hard than he had before into his partner’s oversensitive body until he stopped and with a long honking-like noise truly spent into him. He pulled out and collapsed boneless onto Tavros.  As he used his partner’s belly as a pillow, Tavros thought about sleeping until Gamzee started speaking.

 

“That was beautiful, my  _ amuri _ , beautiful!”

 

Tavros wondered what  _ amuri _ meant until he realized how close it sounded to “amore” – beloved. 

 

Gamzee continued, “Thou art my all, my sun and sea and earth, I have loved thee since we got our meetin’ on.”

 

Gamzee’s amuri couldn’t sleep after such a declaration. Not only did he not know Gamzee was in love with him, he didn’t think it was possible for a man to be in love with anyone but a woman. He thought there was only perverted lust. Yet this pervert sounded so sincere.

 

Gamzee continued, “Thou hast given me thy all on our sacred matrimonin’ night.”

 

Matrimony? Tavros searched his brain wondering when he married anyone and realized why Gamzee made him swear oaths at church. If only Tavros had known what he had sworn. 

 

Tavros couldn’t speak to renounce their marriage, so the heretical priest continued, “On tomorrow, I shall go askin’ my blood and holy father for permission to get ourselves hitched for the Church, not just God, oh  _ amuri _ .”

 

It was impossible for the Pope to allow a priest to marry a eunuch when eunuchs weren’t even allowed to marry laywomen.  Even the Pope’s son couldn’t gain such a favor, could he?

 

“What say thee?” Gamzee asked, “Come with my summonin’ to Pope Grand like thou camest to thee tonight.”

 

Tavros thought about Gamzee as a spouse. He had thought if he was going to be married, it would be to a Protestant woman. Yet here is had been gifted with a priest as a husband. With a strange post-coital calmness, he started to wonder if it would really be so bad if a miracle occurred and they could get their marriage sanctified by the Pope himself. Gamzee was a bosom companion even though they had just met. Tavros had never had so much fun in his adult life since meeting the wild priest. He hadn’t expected Gamzee to be able to make their perverted coupling so euphoric. If the unorthodox-but-devout priest could pull off the miracle of marriage, perhaps Tavros would be the most happily-wed eunuch in the world. If they prayed to Saint Sergius and Bacchus, perhaps the saints would allow it?

 

“Uh, yes, we could try that.”

 

“That’d be good,” Gamzee mumbled back before closing his eyes.

 

Tavros willed his eyes closed.

 

 


End file.
